The Nut Cracker
by Gomes
Summary: [GC] Classical dance can be a very competitive sport...
1. Up and Coming Dancer

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: I have a few ideas brewing, but this one was probably the most developed. The beginning might seem to drag out, but I like to set my scenes.  
  
Cheers!  
  
---------------  
  
"Mom! I can dance too! Maybe even better!" The little boy pranced around the room, almost knocking over his sister.   
  
She glared at him, sticking her tongue out - her only means of defence, and then continued with a slow balletic shift, from second to third position. Her arms floated up to gateway, and she forced herself to adorn a peaceful smile, as she had been instructed to in class. Again, the blur-of-a-body bulldozed past her. "Moomm! Tell Jarod that he's disconcentrating me." She yelled, blatantly trying to get her brother to stop showing off.  
  
"Distracting, dear. There's no such word as disconcentrating." A melodious voice floated around the room.  
  
"Fine! Tell him that he's ... distracting me!" Krissy squealed as she almost lost her balance.  
  
The mother's gentle laugher could be heard. "Jarod dear, let Krissy practice, okay? She has a recital tomorrow."  
  
The little boy stopped his prancing; one foot planted on the ground in turn-out, the other lifted high in the air with well-pointed toes. He turned and looked to where the voice was coming from. "Mom, I have *my* recital in a week. It's not my fault that I'm in advanced classes." He stated, pushing Krissy over.  
  
"Jarod!" The screen went black.  
  
Krissy sat back in her chair, remote control loosely gripped in her hand. She shook her head, her eyes sad. «Why do I always watch these?» She asked herself, surveying her living room floor, now cluttered with video tapes, dated from fifteen to seventeen years ago. She stretched her legs, arching her feet and pointing her toes. "I was still the best." She got up and gracefully walked towards the door. She put on her jacket, slung her ballet shoes over her shoulder and grabbed her keys. Pausing at the door, she glanced at the picture hanging to the right of it. Her fingers glided over the picture of her brother, who was standing next to her, arm around her shoulders. She kissed the tip of her fingers and placed it on her brother's face. "Love you." She said to the picture and left the apartment.  
  
***  
  
Gil Grissom stood at the door of the Nevada Ballet Theatre. He had come by once, when Lindsey had forced him and her mother to attend the Nutcracker, a year ago to this day. He smiled remembering telling the young blond, whom he loved as his own, that he was sincerely just 'resting his eyes' when she had jabbed him in the side.   
  
"Gil."   
  
His head jerked to the side, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Cath." He nodded a hello to Warrick behind her.   
  
Catherine Willows walked up to him, stopping but a centimetre away. She knew close proximity bothered him, so usually that was the main reason she would always stand so close, just a hairline from physical contact. However, another reason began to present itself over the years; another reason she was not prepared to accept as of late: she craved his being. She just wanted to be by his side forever, she wanted to feel more than just his aura crashing against her body; she wanted to feel his skin against hers, his hands on her body, his eyes held captive by hers. "So, what do we have?"  
  
Gil straightened and let out a silent breath. Her presence always caused blood to rush southwards, and despite not wanting to work with her on cases - which always left him distracted - he couldn't bear the thought of not seeing her eyes sparkle as the investigation began. He couldn't break away from the spell she unconsciously cast upon him when she would be searching for clues, dissecting and analysing. He chuckled to himself; he had seen her dance, and it had turned him on. Hell, you'd have to be a blind man not to be turned on by Catherine Willows, but for some weird reason, probably bordering on the fetish side, watching her decipher a scene was one of the sexiest phenomena he had ever seen. He cleared his throat and guided both of them into the theatre. They walked silently into the girls changing rooms, finally reaching the showers.   
  
Warrick Brown shook his head. "Hopefully, not all the evidence went down the drain." He stated, slapping on a pair of latex gloves. He bent down, his knee resting on the floor. He took a picture and then turned the head towards him. A pair of deep brown eyes, almost as if in suspended animation, stared back at him. They were quite a contrast to the pale skin of the woman lying half on her side, in a deserted communal shower. Her red hair proved to be deceiving as dark roots looked as if they were rejecting the dye. He looked behind her head, right at the base of her neck. "There seems to be a puncture wound right above the spine." He pondered, "could be cause of death." He looked more closely. "Seems to have been done with a pointy object, knife, pen. . ." His eyes trailed down her naked body, noting bruising underneath her breasts. "I don't think the crime was done here." He stated.   
  
Catherine bent down at the waist, right beside Warrick. She pointed to the bruising, observing one blue-ish tint underneath the breast, and four distinct ones near her back, almost framing her rib cage. "She was transported?"  
  
Gil, who had been shamelessly admiring the view, stepped up beside Catherine. "But she wasn't dead when she was transported then." He nodded towards the bruising. "Bruising happens when a blood vessel is damaged, either due to a blunt force hitting the designated area or too much pressure being administered."  
  
"So her heart was still pumping." All three CSIs turned to see Jim Brass walk into the changing room. "Alice Smith, 24 years old. Up and coming ballet dancer." He read from the file. "Just had an audition, was going to play the lead in the Nutcracker." He looked down at the body. "Pity."  
  
Gil looked at the body. "Warrick, why don't you finish up here." He gently grabbed Catherine by the arm. "Catherine and I will do some interviewing."  
  
Warrick raised his eyebrow. "And since when are you the expert on people?" He asked, mockingly. "And besides," he added on a serious tone, "what exactly do you want me to find?" He stood up, sighing at the fact that he just knelt in a puddle of water. "Most of the evidence has probably been washed away." He rubbed the wet patch on his knee.  
  
Gil stopped short and an unexpecting Catherine ran into him. Gil's breath caught in his throat as he felt her breasts being pressed into his back. "Sorry." He muttered, his voice low.  
  
Catherine remained pressed up against him, enjoying the warm feeling spreading across the front of her body. She finally brought her hands up to his back, and gently pushed herself away from him. She let her hands linger, feeling the sense of security still coursing through her veins. She swallowed hard. "It's okay." Her voice was soft, and she wondered if any sound came out of her now dry mouth.  
  
Gil turned around, coming face to face with Catherine. He was surprised to see her still standing there, and the two held each other's gaze. Breath mingled with breath as neither made any effort to move - both lost in the deep blue seas of their eyes.   
  
"Griss?" Warrick's voice somehow managed to make its way to Grissom's ears.  
  
"Yeah?" Gil however, didn't take his eyes off Catherine. He chuckled inwardly, stressing the point that he *couldn't* take his eyes off the strawberry-blond even if he had wanted to. His eyes dropped down to her lips, fallen prey to a tube of clear lip-gloss that begged to be given attention. He almost gasped aloud when he saw her lips part and his eyes shot up to hers, intensity duelling.  
  
Warrick glanced at Jim, a worried expression dawned on his face. With a shrug, he put his hands palms up, in form of a question, asking for the older man to help him with the situation.  
  
Jim grinned and walked up to Gil, effectively breaking the trance that both senior CSIs always seemed to linger in. "Mr. Brown over there, remember him?" He mocked a now blushing Gil.   
  
Gil rolled his eyes, a lopsided smile resting on his lips. He walked over to Warrick. "Let's see, you have the bruising - maybe you can get out the Mikrosil for the puncture wound behind her neck. Maybe you'll be lucky and lift some prints off the bruises, but at least we can get somewhat of a idea on the size of the hand used to transport the body." Gil continued looking at the body for anymore clues.  
  
"Woah." Warrick stepped around the body and bent down near the feet. He grimaced and moved the legs slightly to give Gil a clear view. "Looks like she was restrained or something." He said, pointing to the bruising and dried blood caked on to her feet as well as her ankles. "She put up quite a struggle." He looked at her hands and wrist. "Though there's no evidence of any restrictions on her wrists."   
  
Gil looked down, near the drain. "Take out the drain, see if you can find anything." He looked around the room. "Check the doors for fingerprints. . ." he paused, noting that it was a lot of work for the younger CSI. "Look, I'll stay here and help."   
  
Warrick nodded a thanks, and started preparing the Mikrosil.  
  
Gil looked at Catherine, apology written in his eyes. He raised his eyebrow and she cocked her head to the side, understanding. He wanted to be there with her, protect her at all times. He knew it infuriated her when he always 'babied' her, as she had tastefully put it. In any case, he would rather see her angry than hurt . . . besides, seeing her angry and flustered was quite the turn-on, he grinned.  
  
Jim opened the door for her and let her through. "I'll keep an eye on her." He tried to comfort Gil's look of growing despair, as she left his view.   
  
"Make sure you do." The CSI supervisor whispered, more to himself.  
  
—TBC— 


	2. Panel of Judges

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: Still lagging. . . I know.  
  
Cheers!  
  
----------  
  
Gil looked at the door of the changing room for the fiftieth time in a half-hour.   
  
"She'll be fine, Grissom." Warrick shook his head. He looked at his boss. "So, what exactly *is* going on between you and Catherine?" He tried to make the question sound as casual as possible, knowing full-well that the older man could bolt at any second. Personal information was just something not associated with Gil Grissom.  
  
Gil's eyes flicked from the door to Warrick. "And this is your concern . . . how?" He asked, watching the younger CSI try to busy himself with the drain. So far, they had made a mould of the puncture wound as well as the lacerations and bruising on her feet and ankles. Gil had tried to get some prints from the bruising on her torso, but had to settle for the size of the hand instead. He moved to the door and started looking for some fingerprints. He sighed and shook his head, not knowing how many people had probably pushed open the swinging doors. "Needle in a haystack." He muttered.  
  
"Nah, I was just curious. . ." Warrick finally spoke after a few minutes of thinking. "I mean, you guys seem really close, and people are talking. . ." He cringed at his slip-up. Gil was like a concrete wall, with no imperfections. The only thing leading inside, letting any one close enough to even witness the enigma that is Gil Grissom, was but a small door, to which no one had the key. Warrick chuckled; Catherine was probably the only one brave enough to try to pick the lock.  
  
Gil lifted one print and turned to face his CSI. "People? What people?" He turned around again, and lifted another print, cursing at those that were partials and overlapping others. Smudges and dirt ran in abundance in public areas and this door was no different. He began to look for out-of-place prints.  
  
"Look, sorry okay. I know you like your privacy." Warrick tried to rectify the problem and drop the issue.  
  
"Who's talking?" Gil asked again, pocketing another print that seemed to be placed lower than all the others. He walked over to the laundry hamper. "Maybe we can find some sweat, bodily fluids or something . . ." he trailed off, looking through the white fluffy towels. Gil didn't bother to look up, "look, I'm sure that speaking about my personal life might be more interesting than discussing the various stages of a decomposing body, but let's just keep my life at that: private." He warned the younger CSI, giving him ample sternness to be passed along to the other members of the team.  
  
Warrick raised both his eyebrows at Gil's sudden defence. "Gotcha." He muttered, more than willing to pass on 'the wrath of Grissom' to his friends. After some moments of awkward silence, Warrick spoke up. "Why don't you just ask her out, already?"  
  
Grissom's head shot up in disbelief. "Warrick." He cautioned, his voice steady. "What did we just talk about?" Gil was rather surprised that the young CSI had the guts to challenge the subject again. Truth was, underneath Gil's warnings, he was terrified as to where Warrick was headed. If others had been talking, that would logically insinuate that they knew of his unspoken feelings for Catherine. If they knew, Catherine of all people, what with her amazing observational prowess, her deducing skills, would know too. Gil sighed and dropped his head to his chest.   
  
"So, just ask her out for coffee and then let nature take it's course, man."  
  
"Warrick!" Gil yelled, his voice echoing through the empty room. He stood there, holding some damp towels, his ice-blue eyes battling with the crystal-grew eyes of the darker man. Gil's bottom lip slipped out into a pout, still daring Warrick to touch upon the subject. "Let's just concentrate on the crime scene, okay?" He said, a tranquillity to his voice but the challenge ever present in his eyes.  
  
"Fine." He placed the drain back into it's place and stood up. "Nada on the drain . . . not even hairs clogged."   
  
Gil threw the towels back into the bin. "They make them extremely large due to the amount of people traffic they get in here." He walked over to Warrick. "Hairs can get caught, but a little water and down the drain they go." He continued looking at the floor. "What if she was killed here?"   
  
Warrick looked back at Gil, waiting for him to work his theory.   
  
"Alice Smith was sitting on the bench, getting ready to change. Someone comes up behind her, and sticks something in the back of her neck." He looks at the towels and points to them.  
  
"Towels can be used to muffle her cries." Warrick adds, moving with Gil to the bench. He took out the luminol. "Kill the lights."  
  
Gil turned the lights off, and watched as a puddle of blood appeared under Warrick's ALS. "Obviously someone she knew was in here, someone who belongs to the company putting on the play." Gil mused, following Warrick's trail of Luminol. "So, she's stabbed here, right above the spine."  
  
Warrick grimaced. "That would leave her almost paralysed."  
  
"Right, until she would bleed out." He walked up to the showers where the body lay, where the trail of blood led him. "But bleeding on the floor over there is hard to clean." He cocked his head to the side. "So, incapacitated body can be lifted up, held at a distance - dragged, pushed. . ."  
  
"Until they reach the shower, and," Warrick sprayed some Luminol on the drain and the area around it, "all they're problems are washed away." The two men look at each other, nodding.  
  
Gil's eyes turned to the taps. "Hot or cold?"  
  
Warrick grinned and they both proceeded to try and lift some prints off the nobs.   
  
Gil held up the clear plastic tape against the light. "Damn." He muttered. His eyes focussed behind the tape, falling on to the shower head.   
  
"Nothing here either. People's hands are usually wet when they turn off the faucet." Warrick muttered. "What?" He noticed Gil staring up.  
  
"Print the shower head." He handed the taller man a piece of tape. "One would want to make sure that all the blood is washed away, right?" The corners of the supervisor's mouth turned upward slightly.   
  
Warrick held up the tape, a fingerprint staring back at them. "Bullseye."  
  
***  
  
Catherine and Jim walked up to the audition room. "It's a tough business." She muttered, observing the crest-fallen looks on some of the girls and boys there. "Last minute auditions." She informed Jim, off his confused look. "They want to make sure they have the leads first, and then they move on with the others, based on their fast ability to learn the moves and to keep up."  
  
Jim nodded and opened up the door. He saw three people, two men and a woman, sitting at a make-shift desk amongst the rows of barren blood-red chairs. On stage, a leggy brunette was giving what could be assumed as the best performance of her life. Her face glowed and passion seemed to surround her in a blanket. She finished her piece, face lit up, chest heaving. She got up off the floor, where she had ended, and stood and bowed.   
  
"Great work, Krissy." The woman said, looking at her notes. "As the understudy, you have the choice of taking the lead or remaining -"  
  
" - I'll take the lead!" Krissy said, enthusiastically.  
  
"It's all yours! That was spectacular! I don't know why we didn't chose you first." He stated.  
  
Krissy jumped up and down, almost contradicting her early adulthood stature with the childish action. "Thank you so much. You won't regret your decision!" She gracefully strolled off the stage.  
  
After seeing the audition, Catherine sighed. "I took ballet for awhile." She mentioned, staring at the stage. "Wonder if I would have made it. . ." She pondered.   
  
The two walked up to the panel of judges. "Jim Brass from the Las Vegas P.D and this is Catherine Willows, CSI." He introduced.  
  
"Jenny Surington, Keith Bentley and Frank Girsh." The last man stated. "What can we help you with?"  
  
"Well, it's about the dead girl that was discovered today in the ladies room." Jim began. He looked back on the stage, his memory playing the audition again. "Shouldn't there be a period of mourning when one loses a member of the troupe?" He asked.  
  
"The show must go on, Mr. Brass." Jenny answered plainly. "We understand that something terrible has happened, but we have a fanbase to answer to. The Nutcracker is a tradition, and is seen by all during the Christmas period. To postpone or cut the show would have dire repercussions." She paused. "The theatre is a way of expanding one's culture but it is also a business - there are profits to be made, and assets to be lost."  
  
"And I guess Alice Smith was more of an asset." Catherine replied sarcastically. She looked back onto the stage, almost imagining herself there, adrenaline began to show its face.  
  
"Did you use to dance?" Keith spoke, interrupting her thoughts. His eyes travelled up and down her body.  
  
Jim raised his eyebrow, thanking God that Gil wasn't in the vicinity. He looked at the door, expecting the supervisor to come crashing through, any minute and beat the living daylights out of the man so brave to let his eyes roam over the strawberry-blond's body.  
  
"I used to dance, yeah." Catherine replied casually, her eyes still on the stage.  
  
"Oh?" Jenny asked surprised. "Anything I might have seen you in?"  
  
Catherine's eyes went to Jim and then to Jenny. "I . . . don't think so." She titled her head and looked at the other two. "However, those two - I wouldn't be too surprised." She grinned.  
  
"What can you tell us about Alice? Did she have any enemies? Any friends? Was anyone else here during her audition yesterday?" Jim bombarded them with a few questions.  
  
"We don't know much about Miss Smith." Frank stated. "She just came in, and had the dedication and bubbly personality that we were looking for." He shrugged. "Other than that, we don't know. She just started on the ballet scene - didn't even have an agent yet."  
  
"She was going to be big." Keith nodded.  
  
"Oh, maybe you can talk to Krissy." Jenny offered.   
  
"Krissy?" Both Jim and Catherine looked back at the stage.  
  
"Yes, Krissy Samson." Jenny handed her the head shot of the brunette who had just been on stage. "Yesterday, both of them were here together, at a closed audition for the lead role. We narrowed it down to the two of them, and decided to give Alice a chance."  
  
"Krissy had such a long list of shows behind her, we figured one wouldn't make too much of a difference." Keith added.  
  
"But when we told Krissy, she was devastated." Frank shrugged. "But I guess everything worked out for her in the end." He stated, semi-morosely.  
  
"You'd have still preferred Alice?" Catherine asked, surprised.  
  
Keith nodded. "Alice had this fire inside of her, helped her achieve great things. Krissy is good - Alice was just better."  
  
"But all that you told Krissy just now. . ." Jim asked.  
  
"You have to feed them, Mr. Brass. Performers crave feedback, positive no doubt. What would you expect her performance to be if we would have told her the only reason she has the lead is because the original is dead?" Frank debated. "As opposed to telling her that she can do this, that's she great and some more bullshit."  
  
"It's all tactics." Jenny added.  
  
Jim and Catherine looked at each other. "So, eager understudy gets to be the lead because the original dies conveniently." Jim stated.  
  
"M.O.?" Catherine asked.   
  
"You got it." Jim said, thanking the judges and heading out to find Gil and Warrick.  
  
—TBC— 


	3. Hard to Tell Who's Who

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: I corrected a small error that I noticed in the first chapter: the little girl's name at the beginning was supposed to be Krissy (the ballet dancer from the second chapter) and not Gillian. My apologies for any confusion. Thanks for the reviews, guys! You rock!  
  
Cheers!  
  
----------  
  
Catherine walked in to the girls' changing room and was immediately met with Gil's gaze. She crinkled her brow, "what, have you been watching the door continually?" She asked jokingly, but managed to catch Gil's warning to Warrick. She rolled her eyes and walked over to a now squatting Gil.  
  
Gil had laid out all of the towels on a sanitized tarp. He remained there, balanced on the balls of his feet, staring at them intently.  
  
Catherine placed her hands on each of his shoulders, and leaned most of her weight on him, peering over his head. "Did you guys find anything?"   
  
Gil's voice seemed to be caught in his throat, and he prayed that Catherine didn't feel the tension bolt up to his shoulders. He nervously chewed his lower lip, and despite the violent protests his knees where hollering at his brain, he chose to remain squatting, desperately trying to absorb the energy located at the exact point where Catherine's hands met his body. An unconscious moan escaped when Catherine gave his shoulders a small squeeze.  
  
Catherine let her hands linger a little, aroused by the emotion she could instigate within her supervisor. She felt the tension return back to his shoulders and she glanced over at Jim and Warrick who were busy looking through some of the neighbouring lockers. Taking a risk, she began to gently kneed Gil's shoulders, working out the stiffness and muscle blocks. "We interviewed the judges," she spoke as not to draw attention from the suspicious silence. "Turns out a certain Krissy Samson was here yesterday, with Alice."  
  
"And . . ." It was breathy and low, as Gil let his head drop down. He put his hands on the ground, aiding him with balance as Catherine further explored his shoulders, arms and the top of his back. It was at that point that he realized just how much he wanted to please her - willing to put his desires on hold for her satisfaction. While most men lusted over her beauty and sexy allure, he knew that his feelings ran their course on a much deeper level. He had seen her through highs and lows and still wanted to explore her bests and worsts. He wanted to be there every time she smiled, every time she cried and every time any feeling ran through her body; he wanted to be the cause of those good feelings and protect her against those that would bruise her gentle spirit.   
  
"I think we should talk to Samson." Catherine told him, her own voice heavy with desire. Her hand brushed against the exposed skin on the back of his neck, and she found her hands more than willing to have a relationship with the area right below his head. She let her fingers dance through the greying darkish curls that lay dormant at the base.   
  
"God Cath. . ." Gil let his eyes slip closed as he whispered to her. His voice dripped with desire and he suddenly realized what he was doing. He straightened up and proceeded to stand, taking Catherine's arms with him. He stood with his back facing her, and tried to take the focus of his aroused state. "You truly missed your calling." He joked, commenting on her massaging skills.  
  
"Hey." She let her arms drop to her side. "You sounded like you enjoyed it." When she came face to face with his shocked look, she gave him a teasing wink and turned and sauntered over to Warrick and Jim. "War, find anything interesting?"  
  
"Well, we lifted a print off the showerhead, nothing in the drains or in the lockers." Warrick stated, disposing of the latex gloves.  
  
"We found out that Alice was killed on this bench," Gil said, pointing to the brown wooden bench that was fastened to the ground thanks to the unwilling help of four metal bolts. "With the Luminol, we found the exact path that led Alice to where she took her last breath."  
  
Catherine's eyes followed the yellow plastic markers labelled one through eleven, knowing full well the effects of Luminol had long since expired. "You say she's been dead for twenty-four?"  
  
Gil shrugged. "We're having the body transported to the morgue. Robbins will give us more information."  
  
"There's still this Krissy Samson that has to be seen to." Jim said.  
  
Catherine opened her mouth, then looked at Gil. "Gil and I will talk to her." She headed out the door, closely followed by Gil. "You guys handle the evidence, and maybe you," she stopped and turned to Warrick, "can get a ride back to the lab with Jim?" She smiled and headed towards her destination. "We'll exchange notes later." She called over her shoulder.  
  
Warrick watched Gil follow Catherine outside the changing room. "Sometimes I wonder who's the supervisor -"  
  
"- and who's the lap dog?" Jim added with a grin.  
  
"Yeah, but that leaves you to wonder, which would be more enjoyable: having Catherine Willows in *your* lap -"  
  
Again Jim interrupted. "- or *being* in Catherine Willows lap."  
  
Warrick grinned and started packing all of the towels in separate bags. "Either one, do you think Grissom will ever find out?"   
  
Jim shrugged and helped Warrick load the towels. "I don't know. . . for level three CSIs, they both can be surprisingly blind."  
  
—TBC— 


	4. This One's a Nail Biter

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: I'm not sure where I'm headed . . . so please bear with me.  
  
Cheers!  
  
------------  
  
It was a short trip to the men's changing room, which had been the designated temporary ladies's room for the moment. Gil opened the door and stepped in. "Oh, sorry." He muttered, back-tracking into Catherine, who was forced outside the room. The door closed in front of them.  
  
Catherine hoped she didn't sigh aloud when she came into contact with Gil's back, yet again. It was a feeling that she was trying to prevent her body from getting accustomed to. She desperately fought the urge to wrap her arms around his torso and press herself completely to him, and soak up the warmth of his being. «I could always claim that I lost my balance.» She thought with a smirk and then looked up questioningly at her mentor who was just staring at the now-closed door. She noticed the blush that had crept to his cheeks. Her mouth opened to a silent 'ah' as the reason to his current state finally dawned upon her. "Did you see any naughty parts?" She joked, nudging him in the side.  
  
He swung his head to his side, where she now stood and cast her a look of disapproval.   
  
The look only fuelled Catherine's teasing even more. "Why are you so embarrassed Gil? I mean, it's not like you haven't seen a naked woman before." She shrugged. "You've seen me naked." She referred casually to her days before the life of investigating took over her life, fulfilling a long-time dream to make the World a better place.  
  
Gil quickly snapped his eyes straight ahead, a look of pure panic caressing his boyish looks. Images of a younger Catherine, natural as can be, body gyrating, hips swinging, graced his perverted mind. «Thanks for the mental image of your naked body, Cath.» Looking down, he cursed the sudden tightness in his pants and shook his head. «Catherine Willows *is* my Viagra.» He thought to himself. "Maybe you could . . ." He pointed towards the door.  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes and stepped in. "Miss Samson?" She smiled at the now clothed woman and nodded a welcome to Gil. She watched as Gil struggled to bring himself to look at Krissy in the eyes. She smiled, thinking how adorable he must look after having sex and found herself pondering whether he would have this raw look of desire or a shy, 'cat-ate-the-canary' greeting. She seemed to be inkling towards the latter, almost visualizing a childish grin, mimicking one of perhaps a boy who had just put a worm in a girl hair and waiting for the outcome. She smiled, imagining this boyish pride that would cascade over his features, surely making her knees weak. She slapped her forehead, trying to forbid herself of associating sex with Gil.   
  
"Catherine?" He said her name slowly and deliberately.  
  
Catherine opened her eyes and looked at Krissy who had a look of confusion bestowed upon her face and then at Gil who had an equally confused yet mixed with concerned features aimed at her. "I uh forgot to do something." She muttered lamely, knowing very well that Gil wouldn't buy her feasible attempts to play off a moment of weakness. She also knew that Gil would probably want to discuss the moment later and she desperately hoped that he would ultimately forget after the interview.  
  
Gil pulled his eyes away from Catherine with great difficulty. "So, you were saying?" He asked, glancing briefly at the dark haired woman, and then quickly looking away, pretending to be looking at the environment of the musty changing room.  
  
"I was here yesterday." Krissy said. "I was here with Alice. We talked for awhile, and I congratulated her on cutting the lead." Krissy stretched her leg, her eyes trailing up Gil's body. "After we changed, I left and went home."  
  
Catherine looked with distasteful awe and jealousy as she watched the young girl's eyes roam Gil's body. "Can anyone account for your presence at home?" She asked, hoping to draw the girl's attention away from Gil.  
  
Krissy shook her head and finally looked at Catherine. "Look, the audition finished at 5:30 in the afternoon, and I made it home in time to watch the news."  
  
"Was anyone else there?" Gil asked.   
  
"No, it was just Alice and I." She sighed. "Look, I have to get to the gym - if I'm late, my whole routine is thrown off." Krissy stood up, shouldered her ballet shoes and walked between Gil and Catherine.   
  
The two CSIs watched her leave, then turned and gave each other a look. "So, what do you think?" Gil asked, breaking the silence that had encompassed both.  
  
Catherine looked back towards the door and shrugged. "Right now, we need to know the 'when' and 'what' of this case to decipher the 'who'."  
  
"Shall we pay Robbins a visit?" Gil asked, placing his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the room. He stopped short and glanced towards an open locker.  
  
"What?" Catherine followed Gil's gaze. She smiled, "the locker's open."  
  
Gil nodded and walked towards the locker. Snapping on a latex glove on his right hand, he clicked on his flashlight, holding it steady with his left. He slowly opened the door and stepped back as an object fell to the floor. He cocked his head to the side, "a bayonet." He raised his eyebrow and glanced at his partner. "Would you like to do the honours, my dear?"  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes and placed her kit on the ground. Opening it up, she put on a pair of gloves and took out a swab. She swabbed the skewer-like part of the bayonet and then squirted a small amount of phenolphthalein on the swab. A magenta hue brought smiles to both of the investigators. "Found the 'what'." Catherine stated, putting the swab in a protective case.   
  
"Let's go find the 'when'." Gil said, bagging the bayonet, deciding to fingerprint it back at the lab.  
  
***  
  
Catherine stepped into Gil's office. She waited at the door until he finished dealing with Sara and Nick.  
  
"You guys have a DB at the Elvis-a-Rama Museum." Gil said, handing a folder to Sara.   
  
"You're kidding." She glanced at the folder and handed it to Nick, never taking her eyes off her supervisor.   
  
Nick's brow furrowed, looking over a picture of a fairly large man in rhinestone pants that were way too tight, a fake wig glued on to his head and a bottle of pills in his limp hand. "So, possible suicide?" He looked up from the folder. "Wanted to recreate Elvis's death, perhaps believing that he *was* Elvis?" Nick theorized.  
  
"That's what the police suspect. The area has been secured, and David is already there, waiting to take away the body." Gil told the two CSIs.  
  
"Why do you need both of us on this case, Grissom?" Sara asked, leaning on his desk.   
  
Gil looked at Sara's hands then back at her. "Well, I figured you'd rather want to be out in the field then pushing paper, but," he motioned his cluttered desk, "you're welcome to take some off my hands."  
  
"Couldn't I work the dead-dancer case with you?" She asked, almost childishly.  
  
Gil raised his eyebrow. "It's okay, Catherine and I have it covered." He stated plainly, a secret smile playing on his lips, which Catherine caught.  
  
Catherine shook her head at Sara's blatant lusting over Gil, and though she couldn't blame the younger CSI for having such feelings, Catherine knew that Sara didn't feel for the man - she just wanted him. But Catherine knew that her sentiments towards the supervisor went further than lust, something that developed a long time ago, and still continued to evolve. Lust was present, but it was harmonized with so many other emotions as well - love and devotion coming out on top. "Gil." Catherine tried to get Gil's attention.  
  
In a second, Gil's eyes were on Catherine. "Catherine." He smiled warmly at her, as she made her away behind his desk.   
  
"Got some prints, master." She grinned.   
  
Gil nodded and looked at Sara, who was still standing there, staring at him. He pointed towards the door. "You're going to miss your ride."  
  
She looked back, noticing that Nick had already left the premises. She glanced back at Gil who had a blank expression on his face and then at Catherine who was pretending to look around Gil's office, but adorned a Cheshire grin. Sara sighed and left the room, not willing to understand that her supervisor's infatuation with the strawberry-blond went past her alluring looks and spunky attitude.  
  
"So, prints." Gil said, rubbing his hands together.  
  
"The prints from the prop matched a Julio Goveas. His prints were in CODIS, minor offense for possession." Catherine dangled a paper in front of him. "Brass is questioning him right now." She held out her hand. "Care to join me?"  
  
Gil smiled, placing his hand in hers, and revelled in the feeling of comfort that seemed to surround them. They mutually let go nearing Gil's door and walked towards the interrogation room.   
  
***  
  
Stepping inside, they made their way to the window and observed the suspect. They stood side by side, Catherine slightly in front of Gil, with him looking over her shoulder.   
  
"Definitely a dancer." Catherine commented, throwing her voice towards Gil. Her eyes took in his long, slender legs yet riddled with muscles. His waist was trim and tight and his arms were very well developed. His thin brown hair was loosely tied behind his head and he drummed his fingers on the table.  
  
***  
  
Jim walked up to the table and held up the bagged bayonet. "We found your DNA on this."  
  
Julio shrugged. "My prop. I'm the Nutcracker." He said, his voice dripping with pride.  
  
"So who has access to the props?" Jim asked.  
  
"Everyone." He shrugged. "The props closet isn't under lock-down."   
  
"We found it in your locker, with your prints."   
  
Julio shrugged. "Look, my prints are on it because it's my prop." He stood up. "I don't know who put it in my locker, okay, and I don't know who killed that girl! I never even met her."  
  
"Sit down!" Jim barked.   
  
Julio looked towards the mirror and sat down. "Look, I didn't do anything, okay?" He started chewing on his fingernails.   
  
Warrick stepped in to the interrogation room, nodding towards the mirror. "Found this on one of the towels." He held up a piece of tape. "Fingernail."  
  
Jim looked at Julio expectantly. "Now," he began sweetly, "can you explain to me why your fingernail was found at the scene of the crime; in the ladies's room?"  
  
"It was the day before yesterday, and they held auditions for the lead, the Nutcracker." He spat out a nail. "I get nervous so one of the girls did me a little . . . favour." He shrugged, embarrassed.  
  
***  
  
"Nice way to relieve stress." Catherine grinned seductively, leaning into Gil. Her mind's eye conjured up a picture of Julio sitting on the bench and an faceless woman on her knees in front of me. She could picture him biting his nails as the unknown woman pleasured him. She wiggled her fingers in front of Gil. "Nervous tick . . ." She looked back at the suspect, her hair caressing Gil's face.   
  
Gil sucked in his breath at the contact, and let it out slowly and, he prayed, silently. He caught a whiff of her shampoo and fought from tipping closer to her, to bury his face in her golden hair.  
  
***  
  
"Who did you a favour?" Jim asked.  
  
"You wouldn't know her." Julio replied quickly.  
  
"Try me."  
  
Julio paused and dropped his head to his chest. "Krissy. Krissy Samson." He looked up. "She must have gotten the lead since Alice . . ." He trailed off.  
  
"So what," Jim ventured, "you and Krissy are close, right." He looked down at the man's crotch. "Obviously." Jim paced around the room. "So, she wants the lead - she does you a favour, you do her one." He offered.  
  
"That's ridiculous!" Julio stood up and headed towards the door. "Look, I came here on my own accord, okay. I denied council because I have nothing to hide. Just for the record, why would I put my career in jeopardy for a girl who only blows so-so." He opened the door and stormed out.  
  
Jim glanced at Warrick, eyebrow raised. "Drama queen." He muttered, off Warrick's amused look.  
  
***  
  
Jim stepped into the room and addressed the senior CSIs. "So, what do you think?"   
  
Gil shrugged. "I think this Krissy isn't telling us everything."  
  
"Maybe she had her mouth full." Catherine replied dryly. "If you excuse me, I have a date with Robbins." She made her way to the door.  
  
Gil looked at Warrick. "How's the fingerprint off the shower-head coming?"   
  
"Well, I ran them through CODIS and came back empty handed. I'm running them through AFIS - " He was cut off by the incessant beeping of his pager. "I'll beep you with the results." He nodded towards Gil and headed out.   
  
"Gil?" Catherine poked her head in. "You coming?"   
  
Gil looked at Jim who tried to conceal his knowing smile. "Yeah." Gil and Catherine made their way to the morgue.   
  
—TBC— 


	5. Give 'em the Chair

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: Thanks to everyone for the feedback they have given me. It's very much appreciated!  
  
Cheers!  
  
-------------  
  
Gil and Catherine stepped into the morgue and walked up to the blue-tinted body. "Doc, what do you have?" Gil asked, standing on the other side of the cold operating table.  
  
"Well, she was paralysed. But the angle of the puncture wound is odd." He pointed to a picture of the puncture wound. "It's almost at a downwards angle, but it's not that deep."   
  
Catherine looked at the picture closely. "So, it was a weak entry?"  
  
"Well, strong enough to pierce the back of her neck." Al shrugged. He held up the bagged bayonet. "Now, as far as props go, this isn't one."   
  
Catherine looked at Gil. "Yeah, I knew that. It's weighted and the spear is extremely sharp." Gil agreed with Al.   
  
"So . . . somewhere down the line, the prop was substituted for a real one?" Catherine asked.  
  
Gil shrugged. "Well, it can go both ways. I think we need to find whether or not the director asked for a real bayonet."   
  
Catherine nodded. "Anything else?" She asked Al.  
  
"Only that your murderer is rather short."  
  
"Short?" Gil asked, stopping at the door.   
  
"Yeah, I was getting to the angle. Given the angle and the depth, I'd say about five feet, four inches." Al offered.  
  
Catherine turned to face Gil. "I know a mighty small Samson." She flashed him a smile. "Shall we?"  
  
"Let's." He replied, giving a curt wave to Al.   
  
***  
  
Catherine was about to step into Gil's Tahoe when her beeper went off. "It's Warrick." She looked up at Gil.   
  
"Let's go back." He sighed, shutting his door. As they walked back to the lab, Gil's voice echoed in the car-riddled parking-lot. "Hey, why didn't he page me?"  
  
***  
  
"Hey guys." Warrick greeted them, occupying the seat that usually supports Greg.   
  
Gil and Cath stepped in, looking back at the somewhat irate janitor cleaning the windows of the lab, yet again.  
  
"He hates it when Greg writes on the walls." Warrick grinned.  
  
"Does my pager not work?" Gil asked blankly.  
  
Warrick shrugged. "I pick names out of a hat." He replied sarcastically and pressed on with his discoveries. "Anyway, I ran the print off the showerhead through CODIS and it came out negative, right? So I tried my luck with AFIS."  
  
Catherine sat in a vacant chair beside Warrick, Gil leaning over her. He inhaled her scent, a faint smell of strawberries caressing his nostrils. He unconsciously placed his hands on her shoulders and bent down.  
  
Catherine turned ever-so-slightly, eyeing Gil from her peripheral vision, as his head made it's way right beside hers. She shifted in her seat, trying to discreetly draw nearer to her supervisor.  
  
Gil tensed, feeling her hair tickle his ear and lightly graze the side of his cheek. He watched her from the corner of his eye, his gaze falling on her lips for a split second, before retreating to the screen. "The print matched . . . him?" Gil asked, incredulously.  
  
Catherine's brow furrowed. "Jarod Samson?" She looked at Gil. "Hasn't he been missing for -"  
  
"- four years." Warrick interrupted the strawberry-blond. "Police assumed he was dead."  
  
"Right. No evidence that he was kidnapped, no forced entry. Sister was apparently out of town, at a spa, we had her tickets and everything." Catherine added, remembering reading the case file.  
  
"So, what do we know about the Samsons." Gil questioned both CSIs, trying to refresh his memory at the same time.  
  
"Parents died when they both turned 19." Catherine remembered. "House was left in their care."   
  
"Right," Gil continued, "and then two years later, Jarod disappears."   
  
"So I guess he's resurfaced." Catherine raised her eyebrow. "And he's been busy."  
  
Gil stood up. "How about that visit now, huh?" Gil asked, already out the door. Catherine smiled a thanks at Warrick and headed out after him.  
  
***  
  
They arrived at the Samson residence and knocked at the door. Gil waited for the door to open, and held out his badge. "Miss Samson, we met earlier, I'm Gil Grissom and this is Catherine Willows."   
  
"Yeah, what do you want?" Krissy leaned against the door.   
  
"We were wondering if we could talk to you?" Catherine asked.  
  
Krissy looked back into her house then back at the two agents in front of her. "A couple of my friends are over -"  
  
"- we could get a court order." Catherine interjected. She paused, her tone becoming lighter. "Just a few questions."  
  
Gil observed the girl in front of him and waited for a proper moment to drop the bombshell on her. "It's about your brother."  
  
Her dark brown eyes met his. "What about him?" She asked, her heart beating faster. "Did you find him?" She looked from one CSI to the other. "Where is he?!" She demanded.  
  
Gil held up his hands in defence. "Look, we haven't found him but we might have some evidence that will interest you." He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. "May we?"   
  
Krissy sighed and stepped back, allowing both Catherine and Gil to enter. A sickening floral scent hung heavy in the air. She guided them to the living room and introduced them to her friend. "This is Julianne Watson." She turned to her friend, and pointed at the two CSIs. "These are feds or cops or something." She dismissed them, sitting down beside her friend. "They have information on Jarod."   
  
"Jarod?" Julianne gave her full attention to the CSIs. "You found him? Is he alive? Hurt?"   
  
Catherine raised her eyebrow. "We believe that he's still alive - we found his fingerprint on the showerhead at the crime scene. We wanted to know if any of you have seen him as of late."  
  
"No." Krissy replied quickly.   
  
Catherine glanced at Gil and the two shared a knowing look, unseen by the two girls in front of them. "Uh, do you have a bathroom I could use - I should have gone before we left the lab . . ." She trailed off.  
  
Krissy eyed her suspiciously. "Yea, I'll show you where it is - but I'm going with you. Don't want you snooping around without a warrant." She got up, leading Catherine to the bathroom upstairs.   
  
Gil, after watching Catherine leave, turned towards Julianne. "So, how was the relationship between Jarod and Krissy?" He asked, casually.  
  
Julianne paused, then shrugged. "Not like any brother and sister, that's for sure." She observed Gil's look of incomprehension. "They were extremely close, especially after their parents died. They're fraternal twins, but Jarod still took on the role as big brother. I mean, he was her manager too."   
  
"Did you . . . ?" Gil asked, inferring an intimate relationship between her and the suspect.   
  
"No . . . well almost, but no. Didn't work out." She smiled a little sadly. "Jarod was actually my best friend, I never really hung out with Krissy. He was an amazing dancer in my opinion, but the judges didn't see that. They cut him down real bad. So he gave up dancing and became Krissy's coach." She looked around. "She's where she is, because he helped her."  
  
"I don't doubt that for a minute." Gil said, under his breath.  
  
"I only hang out with Krissy because she reminds me so much of him. Sort of like a substitute - eases the pain of losing your best friend." She swallowed hard, blinking back the tears.  
  
"Did they ever fight?" Gil asked, hoping that Catherine would stall the dancer long enough for him to acquire more information that she wasn't willing to share.  
  
"Of course. Brother, sister." She looked around the room, her eyes falling on the picture hanging on the wall. "Jarod could be harsh sometimes, especially when it came to Krissy's career. He yelled at her, abused her, even forced her on a 'starvation' diet, letting her consume only vitamin pills." She shook her head. "A few days later, he just disappeared." She chewed on her lower lip. "Look, I don't condone what he did, but Jarod cared about Krissy - too much if you ask me. It was always about her well-being and success." She finished, just as Krissy walked back in the room, followed by Catherine.  
  
Catherine flashed him a hidden grin, reading his eyes that she had given him enough time. "Gil?"   
  
He nodded. "Thank you very much for your time, Miss Samson." He looked at the other woman, grateful, "Miss Watson."  
  
"You'll let me know if you find any more news on Jarod?" Krissy asked, almost desperately.  
  
Gil nodded. "I promise we'll meet again."  
  
The two left the house and walked to the Tahoe. They waited until they were inside the car and half-way down the street before either of them spoke. "So?" Catherine ventured first, stealing a glance at her supervisor.  
  
He smiled, basking in the silence that he was emitting. "Gonna cost you." He grinned, his eyes still on the road.   
  
"Promise I'll make it up to you." She looked at him, puppy-dog eyes pleading with him.  
  
"Quite the interesting information that Miss Watson willingly gave." He began, and informed her on the whole scenario about Jarod's passion to see his sister succeed.   
  
"Motive for the killing; he wanted his sister to get the lead role, and accomplished that quite nicely." Catherine nodded, as they pulled up at the lab. "Now, we just have to find him." She got out of the car and waited for Gil to follow her. When his form didn't move, she walked over and poked her head through his open window. "Gil?"   
  
He was staring blankly ahead, but she knew his mind was at work. "The smell in the house." He grimaced. "Sickening, don't you think?"  
  
"Overwhelmingly, yes." Catherine concurred, unsure as to why he brought up the subject.   
  
"Did you notice the pot-pourri, air-purifier, Glade Plug-Ins, lit candles, incense sticks . . ."   
  
"Obsessive?" Catherine shrugged.   
  
"There were just so many different smells, the most powerful one being flowers, but there were so many mixing together that it almost negated my senses." He shook his head.   
  
"People are weird, Gil." She opened his door, inciting him to get out. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not so normal either."   
  
He chuckled. "Let's go look over the Jarod Samson case - any information on places he might go to and whatever else we can find." He held the door to the lab for her. "I hate chasing ghosts."  
  
***  
  
It had been two hours and they still hadn't been clued in to any possible whereabouts to find Jarod Samson. "I think we should ask Brass to get a warrant to search the premises." Catherine dropped her head on the table, exhaustion taking over.   
  
"Already done." Gil watched her from the other side of his desk. He took of his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He got up silently and stood behind her. Gently placing his hands on her shoulders, he began to kneed her tired muscles. "Relax, Cath."  
  
Catherine moaned. "Ah, and what did I do to deserve this special treatment?" She flirted.  
  
"Just returning the favour from earlier." He worked his hands near the base of her neck, moving down to the top of her shoulders and the top of her back. He gingerly moved her golden locks to the side, and worked the tense muscles in her neck.  
  
An unconscious sigh drifted out of her mouth when she felt his warm hands touch her neck. She felt herself growing warm, imagining his manly hands roaming her body, feeling, touching. Her breath quickened, and she hoped her eyes wouldn't betray the professional manner in which she usually conducted herself.  
  
Gil bent down, loving the goose bumps that appeared when his breath hit her neck. He felt her skin call out to his mouth, and he fought hard not to adhere to his body's orders. Before he knew it, he was leaning in, his lips but inches away from meeting the milky skin of her neck.  
  
Catherine gasped aloud when she felt his hot breath on her neck, closely followed by his mouth. She moaned when his tongue ran along her skin, nipping and biting in all her sensitive areas that surrounded her neck. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more access.  
  
He growled, his voice deep and aroused. He lost control and sight of his hand, buried deep in her strawberry-blond locks, the silkiness causing his skin to tingle. He sucked on her neck, tasting her until he felt her skin bruise under his mouth. He withdrew his mouth from her neck, and took a step back, surprised by his actions. "God Cath, I - I'm so sorry." His breathing laboured, he wiped his hand across his face, fearing his deed just cost him the special relationship that had formed over the years.   
  
Catherine opened her eyes, looking at Gil's office with lust-filled eyes. She titled her head back, so that it was resting on the back of the chair, and stared at her supervisor.  
  
His eyes met hers, and he took a cautious step forward, positioning himself directly behind the chair. Her upside down face revealed a frown, and relief flooded his senses as he realized that she had to be smiling, right-side-up. From behind, he leaned over the chair, kissing her upside down mouth, letting his tongue taste her soft lips, his own memorizing the feel of hers. He groaned as she reached up, cupping his face, her hands drifting across his hair.   
  
Catherine panted against his mouth, finally thrusting her tongue between his lips, forcing him to part them for her. She taunted his tongue with hers, as they engaged in an intimate relationship of their own. She moaned as his fingers trailed down her neck, his hand inching to the top of her shirt. She arched her back as she felt his skin connect with hers, his fingers caressing her breasts, squeezing and fondling.  
  
"Gil."   
  
Catherine sat up straight as Gil took three steps away from the chair. He looked up at the man who had just barged in to his office.   
  
Jim Brass grinned cheekily, obviously aware as to what was going on in the graveyard shift supervisor's office. His eyes bounced from Catherine's form, who was still facing away from him, to Gil's red-dyed face. He pointed from one to the other, "been going on for awhile?"  
  
Catherine shook her head. "No, and it shouldn't even have . . ." She left her sentence hanging as she swiftly exited the room, pushing passed Jim.  
  
Gil's eyes followed her retreating form, his mouth ajar. «God, what have I done?» He kept looking at the open door, a vacant look settling in his eyes.  
  
"Gil?" Jim now felt bad for causing any rifts between the two CSIs. "Uh, I have the warrant you needed for the Samson case." He placed the paper in Gil's opened hand.  
  
The paper slipped out, gently floating to the floor, never winning Gil's acknowledgement. He turned and looked at the chair which still held her essence. Moments ago, bliss was a strong emotion that took over his body; now he felt numb, void of any emotion at all . . . and he hated himself for it. He always thought that indifference was worse than any emotion, even hate, and right now, his body seemed to repel any feelings of fear, confusion, anger that wanted to enter his system. He let out a morose chuckle. «I'm not indifferent . . . » He muttered to himself, realizing that his heart still beat for Catherine Willows, and would always keep that rhythm, whether she returned his feelings or not. He closed his eyes painfully, her actions hitting him hard; these emotions weren't mutual.   
  
"Sorry, man." Jim gave Gil a pat on the back, and left the CSI to contemplate Catherine's decision on his own. The captain was surprised, and would be the last to admit so, but he was taken aback by her choice to make haste; he always figured that there was this special connection between the two friends, and he had smelled the chemistry brewing since he first saw them together. He shrugged, knowing not to meddle in the affairs of others, especially when it came to Gil and Catherine. He gave a hopeful smile, knowing that things always seemed to have a way of working out between the two.   
  
–TBC– 


	6. One Murder is Easy Two is Even Easier

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: Thanks to Caroline who has been my constant soundingboard and who has the guts to threaten me to write more. You rock. (Please put down the machete.)  
  
Cheers!  
  
------------  
  
Gil numbly picked up the warrant that Jim had given him not long ago. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the door; his whole being aching for her to enter back into his life. His eyes scanned the paper and jumped back to door, upon seeing a figure standing in the doorway.   
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey." He held up the paper. "I have a warrant."  
  
Warrick nodded. "Taking Catherine with you?"  
  
Gil shook his head. "Nah, easy in and out." He moved passed the taller man and headed towards the exit, despair seemingly shadowing him.  
  
Warrick watched his supervisor leave, perplexed as to why Catherine was not by his side. He looked towards the break room, and caught sight of her sitting on the couch - a can of Coke suffering her death grip. He walked towards the break room, sitting down beside the strawberry-blond. "Hey."  
  
She greeted him with a weak smile. Taking a swig of her Coke, she fought hard against revealing her current weakness.   
  
"You wanna talk about it?" He asked softly.   
  
Catherine shook her head. "Not right now, Warrick." She muttered.  
  
Warrick acquiesced; he had learnt a long time ago not to push Catherine Willows without suffering a minor burn. The only one who seemed to keep pressing her was his supervisor. «Maybe he likes feeling Catherine's heat.» Warrick stipulated to himself, a grin appearing on his face. "If you need someone to talk . . ." He left the statement open for her to interpret. He got up to leave, the mark on her neck not having gone unnoticed by his well-trained observational skills. "He's gone to investigate the Samson home." He threw over his shoulder.  
  
Catherine watched him leave, and took another sip. She glanced down at her cell-phone, desperately wanting to turn it off. «Gil's probably going to call anytime.» She stared at it, the silence deafening, only interrupted by the consistent 'tick-tock' that the clock on the wall supplied. «He's going to call.»   
  
*tick tock*  
  
«I can feel it.»  
  
*tick tock*  
  
She paused and stared at the cell phone, a single tear falling on the earpiece. «Why won't you call?»  
  
*tick tock*  
  
***  
  
Gil caught sight of Krissy as she was getting into her car. "I'm back." He smiled, looking at her through her open window.   
  
"Warrant?" She asked, shaking her head.  
  
He held it up and then handed it to her. "Am I catching you at a bad time?"  
  
She shook her head. "I have to rehearse. We're opening in four weeks."   
  
"May I . . ."   
  
"G'head." She dismissed him by a wave of her hand. "Just don't . . . touch anything." It was an empty request, she knew that CSIs were snoopy-by-nature.   
  
"You don't want to be present?" Gil asked, happy that he would be able to do his search in peace.  
  
She shook her head, then signing the make-shift 'release' form that he had concocted, getting her authorization to do a search of the premises without her presence. "Have fun." She muttered, pulling out of the driveway.   
  
Gil cocked his head to the side, twirling the keys that she had just given him around his index finger. He looked back at the house, and braced himself for the mind-boggling scent that would batter him upon entrance.   
  
***  
  
Gil walked inside, strongly debating whether to put his mask on or not. He clicked on his flashlight and started inspecting the immediate environment. He opened the hall closet, and noted that there were only women's jackets inside. He continued, observing the kitchen area; a table had been set for one: a bottle of wine, half empty stared back at him. The plate was still have occupied with food - a mixture of steamed vegetables, a slice of half-eaten bread and a piece of cheese. Closing the fridge, he decided to inspect the upstairs. He climbed the stairs, the boards letting out a lament on the last stair. He peered into the bathroom, noting a can of shaving cream and a razor. There were several boxes of waxing strips and various bottles of hair-removal cream. A box of unopened tampons was neatly tucked away in the drawer. He continued following his eyes, as they took in the parent's bedroom, seemingly untouched. If he hadn't been familiar with the case, he would have half-expected the parents coming home and retreating to the room. His artistic eye caught hold of the burgundy and gold contrasts, the four-post bed, the thick quilt that lay protectively over the bed. His mind's eye forced him to visualize Catherine lying there, dwarfed by the large bed, silk adorning her wrists as he pleasured her. Her earlier moan, one his ears experienced in his office, drifted back and caressed his audio senses. He scrubbed a hand across his face and continued with his inspection. He stepped into the brother's room, posters of Mikhail Barishnikov hung with pride in the deep blue room. Everything was in order, probably having been untouched since Jarod's disappearance. Gil's eyes fell onto his single bed, the covers in ruins. Taking out his magnifying glass, he bent down and observed the pillow. «Gotcha.» He picked up a piece of hair with the tweezers and stuck it in a small manila envelope. Pocketing it, he passed his forearm against the bed, noting that there was trace amounts of warmth, as if it had been used shortly.  
  
***  
  
Catherine still sat in the break room, the Coke can but a distant memory. Her eyes were still looking at the phone, and she suddenly felt sick about her actions from before. She couldn't understand herself why she had bolted - the feelings coursing through her body would negate such movements. She closed her eyes, revelling in the warmth that had spread when his lips had met hers, when his hand had felt her. "Oh Gil . . ." She dropped her head to her chest. She figured he hated her for making a fool out of him in front of Jim. Maybe that's why he let her run, because he too never intended for such an event to happen. Maybe he just didn't have the nerve to tell her.   
  
"Call me!" She yelled at her phone.  
  
*tick tock*   
  
She glared at the clock, almost as if it was making a mockery of her. She glanced back at her phone, then at the break room door.   
  
***  
  
Gil stepped into Krissy's room, a light pink, floral theme danced around. Posters of Karen Cain stood tall, and he noticed the collection of ballet shoes that were displayed near several awards and trophies. He thought back to Jarod's room, which had been void of such prestige. Her bed was made, and seemed untouched, everything was meticulously in place. He stepped out of her room, his eyes catching a small string dangling from the ceiling. He put his kit down and took out his brush. He dusted for fingerprints and placed a piece of tape, thus immortalising them. Placing the fingerprint back in his kit, he pulled on the string and slowly, a staircase dropped down. Looking around, he cautiously stepped up. The light from the hallway gave somewhat of a clear view of the confined attic as he clicked on his flashlight. The floral scent that riddled the house was replaced by a smell of decomposition and putrefaction. Gil placed his kit down, and held up his shirt to his mouth and nose trying to mask the smell. He inhaled deeply, traces of Catherine's shampoo still lingering on the material. He paused when his foot his an object, and closing his eyes, he braced himself for what he was about to see.   
  
A creaking noise jarred him out of his thoughts, and he quickly glanced down to see a small urn. He looked back towards the attic's staircase, and made his way silently there. «Creaks on the last step.» He reminded himself, knowing that whoever was in the house was already on the second floor. He cursed himself for having not locked the door. As he neared the stairs, the smell seemed to get even sharper, but towards the right. His eyes caught a sheet, somewhat jagged edges creating minute tents in the material. He altered his course, the creaking noise now somewhat forgotten. Bending down right beside the stairs, facing away from them, he slowly began to remove the sheet that covered the strange object. He stopped moving, holding his breath as he witnessed a break in the light that had been supplied by the hallway. The shadow grew bigger, and he saw the extension of what appeared to be an arm. He jumped and turned around swiftly, feeling his shoulder collide with something.   
  
Catherine yelped in surprise as Gil's shoulder came into contact with hers, and she lost balance, bracing herself for the inevitable intimate relationship she would be having with the floor. Suddenly a hand grabbed her, and she collapsed forward on the attic stairs.   
  
"Jesus Cath!" Gil yelled, voice heavy with fear. He helped her up to the attic where they both sat down, trying to catch their breath. "What are you doing here?" He finally asked, his voice lower now that his pulse had returned to a somewhat normal rate.   
  
Catherine nodded, unable to look him in the eye. His hand left a burning sensation where he had grabbed her, and she felt herself wanting to tell him of her mistake, but words wouldn't liberate themselves from her mouth.  
  
"You okay?" He asked, concerned. He reached up to caress her cheek, but when her eyes raised to meet his, he withdrew.   
  
"You didn't call me . . ." She began, her voice fragile.  
  
"I figured you wanted some space." He offered, not sure why she was so upset at his sudden departure.  
  
"I was waiting and you didn't call." There was a hint of anger that she didn't want to leak out, but it still surfaced none the less.  
  
"What did you want me to think, Cath?" He asked, anger evident in his voice as well, though masked well with confusion. "You just run out on me, disowning the moment we just had and you're upset that I didn't call you!" He massaged his temples, trying to comprehend the situation. "Look," he stopped her before she said anything else, "I don't think this is the time nor place to discuss . . ." he shrugged, as lack of a better word. He stood up, dusting off his pants and offered her his hand.   
  
She took it, realizing their personal history had to be put on hold, as their work relationship fell back into it's natural groove. She too mimicked his actions of taking off the dust that now adorned her pants. "What's that smell?" She asked, wrinkling her nose.  
  
Gil looked at her, contradiction ever present in his mind. He just felt like charging her, kissing her crinkled nose and claimed her for his own. He let out a sigh and pointed to the object under the sheet. "See how the smell grows sharper here?" He asked, rhetorically. He lifted up the sheet as Catherine turned her head away in disgust.   
  
***  
  
"So, she obviously could smell the scent of a rotting carcass, and instead she chose to mask it with artificial products?" Warrick asked, after Gil and Catherine had told him about their new findings.   
  
"Jim's bringing her into questioning soon." Gil said. He got up when he spotted Greg walking past the break room. "Have anything for me?" He spied the paper in Greg's hand.  
  
Greg grinned. "The hair that you found on the pillow is XY Chrysomya chloropyga. I ran it against Jarod and it's a perfect match."  
  
"It wasn't old?" Gil asked, suspiciously.  
  
"No, definitely new." Greg nodded, confident in his results. "Why?"  
  
Gil pondered. "How does a man's hair, who's been missing for four years, end up in his old bedroom, freshly plucked?"   
  
"Maybe he returned home." Greg offered, making his way back to the lab. "Oh!" He swivelled on his foot. "The fingerprint you also gave me - Jarod." He handed him another paper. He swivelled again, leaving Gil watching the odd boy walk away.  
  
"Greg?" Gil called out to him.  
  
"Yeah." Greg stopped at the end of the hall, in front of his comforting lab.  
  
"Good work." Gil smiled and headed back to the break-room. He paused when his beeper went off. Turning, he headed towards the morgue.   
  
***  
  
"Doc, you beeped?" He asked, walking in, fully dressed in his scrubs.  
  
"Yeah, about your newest victim." The doctor pointed to the carcass of highly discoloured bones. It had been found in an almost foetal position. "I barely found any skin or muscles traces, only a few in the joints of the knee and elbow." He began, pointing to the places in question. "Also, the vic was beaten to death, and the body must have been disposed in a closed off area, which would probably account for such a pungent smell. Also, the lack of oxygen probably slowed down the decomposition rate a bit."   
  
"Beaten?" Gil asked, his mind trying to conjure up several scenarios.   
  
***  
  
Catherine looked outside the break room. "Have you seen Gil?" She asked, a little worried that their supervisor had yet to return.  
  
Warrick nodded. "Yeah, I saw him shuffle off towards the morgue." He replied casually, and looked up only to be thanked by the swinging door and an empty room.  
  
***  
  
"Yeah, fractured wrist bone would indicate defence, left humerus was shattered." He looked up at Gil. "Put up quite a fight." He pointed back to the body of bones. "Damaged ribs, vertebrae and both tibias and femurs were also fractured."   
  
"Gil!" Catherine's voice thundered behind him, and he turned to find her already suited up. "Thanks or keeping me in the loop." She said sarcastically. She held up a paper. "Greg seems to think that we are both working on this case, I don't know why you see otherwise."   
  
Gil looked at Al and grinned. "What does Greg have on the new victim, Catherine?"   
  
"I don't know, maybe I'll just run off on my own, with no back-up and investigate on my own." She huffed.   
  
"Will you do the paper work?" Gil raised his eyebrow, playfully. He couldn't help but become aroused whenever she was mad. It gave him some control knowing that he could always push her buttons.  
  
"Damnit Gil! This isn't funny!" Catherine dropped her hands to her side. She sighed and handed him the paper. "Vic's female, but her DNA isn't in the AFIS, or CODIS or VICAP or anything." She shrugged.  
  
"Catherine, meet Jane Doe." Gil invited her further into the morgue. He explained everything that Al had told him.   
  
"How long has she been dead?" Catherine asked Al.   
  
"I checked the decomposition of the bones, I would have to estimate a good three and a half to four years."   
  
Gil glanced at Catherine. "Just when Jarod Samson mysteriously disappeared.  
  
"Could Jane Doe have been one of his sister's 'rivals' and things went horribly wrong?" Catherine asked. "So he decides to flee."   
  
"Krissy is found in the same predicament, and he comes back to help her out again." Gil nods. "It's usually the first murder that people have to get over, after that, it's all downhill."  
  
Catherine agreed as they both headed out of the morgue, thanking Al in passing. "Yeah, what's *one* more murder?"  
  
—TBC— 


	7. Gone Fishing

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: Okay, one more chapter to go after this one - please bear with me.   
  
Cheers!  
  
---------------  
  
Catherine and Gil sat in front of Krissy Samson, a table dividing the two sides. Jim paced, blending in to the background of the cold, grey walls. "This better be worth my rehearsal time - we're opening next week." Krissy huffed.  
  
"Have you ever smelt something so bad that you actually became afraid of the source?" Gil asked cryptically. He observed her; the way her eyes roamed to the left, her jaw tight. "What did you do about that smell, Krissy?"   
  
She looked away, fidgeting in her chair. "I called animal control, I figured I had vermin in the attic. I'm terrified of mice and rats, so I have never ventured up there." There was a look of pure terror on her face, and the shudder did not go unoticed by the team. "They never found anything, so I just opted to mask the smell as much as possible." She looked at all three of them and blurted out, "hey, it was either that or move!" She sat back in her chair. "Besides, you get used to it after awhile."  
  
Catherine tossed a folder in front of Krissy, the pictures spilling out. "This is what was causing the smell." She stated in a monotonous voice.  
  
Krissy's eyes grew wide. "Who - who is that?"   
  
"We were hoping that you'd tell us." Jim piped in. Krissy just shrugged, her eyes disengaging the pictures.  
  
"The chromosomes are XX, meaning that the victim was female. The coroner estimates her time of death around four years ago." Catherine informed the suspect. "We're thinking that you're brother didn't dissapear but rather went into hiding."  
  
"Jarod would never do that!" Krissy shrieked. "How dare you bring him into this mess!"   
  
"We also found something else." Gil began, always keeping his eye on the Krissy, dying to vision her reaction. "Before we found out that the chromosomes were XX, we ran Jarod's DNA against the Jane Doe, thinking that the body might be his."   
  
"Yeah?" Krissy took a sip of water, her hand shaking so violently that water dribbled down her chin and on to the table.   
  
"The victim and Jarod share 8 relating markers." Gil put it bluntly. "Meaning, they're related."  
  
"What?" It was a hoarse whisper.   
  
"Do you have any sisters, or aunts maybe, that had dissapeared or died?" Catherine asked.  
  
Krissy shook her head. "I have to go." She got up, taking the cup of water with her. "I have rehearsals."  
  
"We were thinking that the Jane Doe was your competition. Normally, you aren't too phazed by that, but she gave you quite the run. So Jarod, your guardian, sees you in a dill of a pickle and helps you . . . any way he can." Catherine watched the girl at the door. "That's why he ran."   
  
"And now he's back." Gil added.  
  
Jim stopped her at the door. "How about some DNA, huh?" He asked, fake sweetness slapping her in the face.   
  
Krissy looked at the swab that was held captive between his index finger and thumb. "No, not without a lawyer." She exited the room, leaving behind a group of confused CSIs.  
  
"So. . ." Jim turned around, tossing the swab on the table. "What do you guys think?"   
  
"We need that DNA sample." Gil said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Do you have anything on Jarod?" Catherine asked Jim. They had been through file after file from the case review, but had come up empty handed. Her last hope lay with the captain.  
  
Jim shrugged. "Actually, before his dissapearance, he underwent some cosmetic surgery, though they didn't specify what."  
  
"My guess, liposuction." Catherine shook her head. "Maybe he wanted to get back into the game." Catherine offered.  
  
"Either way, due to doctor-patient priveledges, and the fact that Jarod Samson is not deceased since no body was ever recovered, we won't be able to obtain the information." Gil said, his eyes closed. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, having pulled double-shifts for two nights in a row.  
  
"He could have killed her and gotten a nose job or something." Jim said, on his way out the door. "Hell, he could be right under our noses and we wouldn't even know it." He chuckled at the cliché.  
  
Catherine stood up and began to leave.  
  
"Where are you going?" Gil asked, his eyes still closed, his body slouching in the chair. His hands were laced right above the nape of his neck, creating a make-shift pillow.  
  
"Working a hunch." She threw over her shoulder and exited, feeling his eyes on her. She stepped into her car and drove to the Nevada Ballet Theatre.   
  
***  
  
Stepping inside the Theatre, she witnessed Krissy strolling casually into the women's changing room. Catherine decided to make a pit-stop herself. She stopped to admire a few photos, thus making her actions less suspicious and finally reached her destination. As she pushed open the swinging door, she heard toilet flush. She placed herself in front of the mirrors and began to wash her hands.  
  
"This is considered harassement." Krissy spat out, lathering the soap in her hands.   
  
"I'm not here on business, I'm actually considering enrolling my daughter in the ballet classes they have here." Catherine said, drying her hands. She took out her make-up bag and began to apply her mascara.  
  
Krissy eyed the CSI. "Did you use to dance?" When Catherine nodded, Krissy smiled. "I can tell, you have a dancer's body." She let her eyes trail up the woman's slender yet muscular legs, well toned hips, slim waist.  
  
Catherine smiled. "Except I wasn't exactly in your line of expertise." She chuckled.   
  
Krissy took out her lipstick and touched it up. "Do you have a kleenex?" She asked Catherine, while checking her teeth in the mirror for any smudges.  
  
Catherine smiled as Krissy snatched the kleenex from her hand, and placing it between her lips, pressed down on it, relieving herself of any excess colour or crumbs.   
  
"Have a good day." Krissy called out, tossing the kleenex into the toilet and heading out of the bathroom.  
  
Catherine bolted into the stall and quickly snapped on a glove. She gingerly picked up the kleenex from the toilet bowl, thankful that the kleenex had not absorbed the water completely. She also prayed a word of thanks for having let Krissy throw the kleenex lipstick-side-up.   
  
***  
  
Catherine walked into the lab, grinning. Gil met her at the door, a perplexed look dawned upon his face. "Where have you been?" He asked, his brow slightly furrowed.  
  
She smiled. ". . . went fishing." She commented, tossing the wet kleenex in his direction.  
  
"What?" Gil thanked his reflexes for not making an ass of himself, as he caught it, water sloshing around. He grimaced and looked back at her. "Catherine?" He started to follow her, still cupping the soaked kleenex. He spotted a new lab tech passing by and called him over. "Here." He distractedly gave it to him, and followed his muse.  
  
The lab tech stood there confused, not moving, unsure of what actions to take.  
  
Gil poked his head out. "Just dispose of it." He shook his head and returned to Catherine.  
  
***  
  
Greg turned and pushed, causing his chair to roll just beside Gil. "Nice shade. Yours?" He raised his eyebrow playfully, holding the lipstick-stained piece of tissue that Catherine had given him.   
  
"Greg." His name was a warning, not a hint of humour on Gil's lips.  
  
The young lab tech gave a sheepish grin to Catherine and started processing the DNA.   
  
Gil turned to Catherine with a smirk. "Good work. I guess running off on your own paid off." He turned to Greg. "Call me when you find something."  
  
Catherine watched her supervisor leave and then looked at Greg, who wiggled his eyebrows at her. She sighed, opting to follow her leader. "See you later, Greggo."  
  
***  
  
Catherine found Gil already in his office, a case file open in front of him. She noticed his smile, and narrowed her eyes. "So . . . " she plopped down on his couch.   
  
He looked up at her, then at the door she had closed behind. His eyes focused on the lock and he quirked an eyebrow up. He closed the folder and folded his arms on the desk. "We can keep this professional." He stated, assuming that he answered her question. He shrugged. "It never happened, we can put it past us." He chewed on his lower lip, hoping that was the solution she wanted to hear, thus being able to put the awkwardness behind them and continue on with their friendship, at least he could salvage that.  
  
Catherine just stared at him, forcing herself to take in what he had just said. She just nodded her head, swallowing a bitter lump that had formed in her throat. "Works for me." She replied, trying to mask her emotions. «I guess he's made up his mind.» She thought to herself, her broken heart causing a sting in her eye. She got up and nodded, heading towards the door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. Already feeling vulnerable from his obvious rejection, she pounded the door with her fist, cursing under her breath. The tears were trying to escape.   
  
Gil eyed her curiously, his head cocked to the side. He got up and strolled behind her, standing facing her back. Her shoulders were shaking ever so slightly, but his observational skills, keen as they were, picked up on the minute up-and-down movement, complemented by a few short inhalations.  
  
Catherine felt him behind her, felt his aura mingle with hers, creating this safe haven that she wanted to wrap around her shoulders. She felt him reach out for her, and her skin seemed to tingle with anticipation at the warmth his skin would bring to hers.   
  
*click*  
  
She glanced down, seeing his hand withdrawing from the lock, leaving it open, almost tempting her to walk out of this office and away from him. She lifted her eyes to his, wanting him to stop her from making a mistake. Wanting him to reassure her that everything will work out, that their friendship will only but blossom in the next level. Wanting him to help her heart win the losing battle with her mind. Wanting him to want her again.  
  
—TBC— 


	8. The Real Nut Cracker

TITLE: The Nut Cracker  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.  
  
NOTES: Thanks to all who have stuck through this story and supported me throughout.   
  
Cheers!  
  
--------  
  
Gil let out a secret smile as the disgruntled wailing of his beeper went off, interrupting Catherine's flow of words. She stood there, mouth open, ready to speak . . . and watched as he made his way to the lab, to meet Greg. She let out a defeated breath, and followed him like a lost puppy.  
  
Greg held up the paper and quickly retracted it from Gil's snatching fingers. "C'mon Grissom, say it." Greg grinned cheekily, head cocked to the side, eyes closed and ears open.   
  
Silence drew in a breath.  
  
Greg shrugged. "I have all shift." He sang, taunting his supervisor.  
  
"Greg." Another warning, stern and venomous, though humour could only be detected by the skilled. Gil swallowed, teeth clenched, his voice low. "You da man." He muttered it softly, his insides churning. He licked his dry lips with distaste, the slang leaving a bitter hint in its wake.  
  
Catherine gave Greg a half-smile as she walked up beside Gil, hearing his forced confession. "Give me the paper, Greggy." She held her hand out, palm up. Throwing a smug look at her supervisor, Catherine's eyes scanned the paper. She glanced away, an unsettling look crossing her features.   
  
Gil leaned over, his eyes still glued to her angelic face now dawned with disturbance. His chin brushed her shoulder, as he bent down to read what had caused her so much distress. "That can't be." Gil stated and the looked over at his partner. "Can it?"  
  
Catherine shrugged and looked at Greg who nodded, "DNA from the saliva off the Kleenex you gave me." He assured both CSIs.  
  
Catherine looked at Gil, telling him that it was his call. "Brass?"  
  
"Brass." He acquiesced. They both rushed off, leaving Greg slightly confused about his discovery.  
  
***  
  
Catherine watched the dancers and actors warm-up, an array of stretches in duets and solo. She let out a nostalgic sigh, reminiscing of her days as a dancer, albeit not the same circumstances, but the exhilaration of letting the music take over her senses had not been forgotten by the level three CSI. She felt Gil and Jim step up behind her, one on each side. She pointed towards Krissy, who was on the floor, forming a "V" shape with her body: legs and arms pointing up at the ceiling, angled away from each other.   
  
"So how do we do this?" Gil asked, leaning over her shoulder again, indulging himself in her intoxicating scent.  
  
She turned swiftly, catching his impulse and raised her eyebrow. Jim interrupted any further development as he mentioned something about talking to her first - coming as friends to spare the possibility of a chase.   
  
Jim remained at the door while Gil and Catherine walked down the aisle of the auditorium, and climbed up the stairs located at the side of the stage. They made their way between the ever-flexible dancers stretching and straining. Catherine turned around and met Gil's eyes.  
  
"What?" He asked, his eyes piercing hers.  
  
"Just making sure where your eyes are." She grinned, finally reaching their destination. "Miss Samson?"  
  
Krissy snapped her head up. "Yeah?" She asked, her eyes resting on Gil.   
  
Catherine narrowed her eyes, and stepped in front of Gil, blocking Krissy's roaming eye. "We'd like to talk to you concerning your brother, Jarod." Catherine awaited a reaction. "Might be interesting." She added as an after-thought.  
  
"I have rehearsals, we're putting on a show in three days." Krissy spat.  
  
"It's okay," Gil began from behind Catherine, "we've already informed the director to seek someone else."   
  
Krissy stood up and dusted off her leggings. She fixed her leg-warmers and stood tall in front of the two CSIs. "What? How long will this take?!" She demanded, her eyes suddenly focussing on Jim and a uniformed officer. She glanced back at Gil and Catherine, then her eyes shifted to nearest exit. She shook her head, knowing that her options were running thin. "Fine, can I just change out of my shoes? My toes are killing me."   
  
Catherine nodded. "Yeah."  
  
Gil pulled out his cell-phone and stepped outside the exit, feeling Catherine's questioning eyes on the back of his head. "Warrick." He paused and glanced around the barren hallway. "Head back to the Samson house, I need you to pick up something and send it immediately to Greg." He nodded, listening to the younger CSI on the phone. "Yeah, exactly!" He further explained his motives and hung up, just in time to have someone run straight into his chest. He staggered back slightly, still holding on to the woman's arms.   
  
"Arg, let me go!" She struggled against him, and finally caught view of Jim and Catherine not far behind. "C'mon!" She struggled more, but Gil still held a firm hold.  
  
"Good work, Gil." Jim said, slapping a pair of cuffs on her.  
  
Gil bent down at the waist, trying to catch his breath. When Krissy had run up against him, it had knocked the wind out of him. He didn't realize that she had such a strong tackle.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He felt her hand on his back, slowly moving up and down, comforting him. He placed his hands on his thighs and, taking one more deep breath, straightened up. "Yeah, thanks." He glanced at her. "What happened?"  
  
Catherine shrugged, making her way to the Tahoes. "She just . . . bolted." She pushed open the door, holding it open for him with the heel of her foot. "Good thing you were there, else the chase would probably still be on."   
  
"Ah." Gil smiled. "Right place, right time huh?"  
  
***  
  
Gil sat back in his chair as Krissy was ushered inside the interrogation room. Jim leaned against the wall. He glanced at Catherine who was sitting right beside him, toying with the manila folder in front of her.  
  
"What's this about? You said you had news concerning my brother?" Krissy asked, taking a seat in front of Gil.  
  
"Your room was seemingly untouched, yet Jarod's room seemed quite lived in." Catherine mentioned.  
  
Krissy shrugged, not backing down. "I slept there . . . brought me closer to him." She paused, tears shining in her eyes. "He was all I had left."  
  
"You're ballet shoes." Gil placed the shoes on the table. "I remember looking at Alice Smith, noting that her feet were badly bruised and battered. I thought she had been bound, but there were no other signs to support that theory." He tossed a picture of the victim's feet. "But then I thought of ballet and realized the havoc your toes must go through; skin tears, broken toenails, fractured bones . . . the list goes on, doesn't it?"   
  
Krissy raised her eyebrow. "What's your point?"  
  
"Well, we checked inside the ballet shoes that were hung on the wall next to all of your trophies. You had quite a lot of them, huh? You must have been very proud." Gil glanced at her.  
  
Krissy smiled. "I couldn't have done it without my brother."  
  
"I bet." Catherine added dryly.  
  
"Am I missing something here? Was I called her for a friendly chat or did you find something out about my brother?" She demanded impatiently.  
  
Gil opened his mouth then closed it. He began again, "actually, it's relating to your sister."   
  
Krissy shook her head. "I don't understand - I don't have a sister."   
  
"Not now . . . but you did." Gil answered, his eyes narrowing slightly, trying to read the suspect's thoughts. "The body that we found in your attic, well we matched the DNA to the ballet shoes in your room." He paused. "Or should I say, your sister's room?"  
  
Krissy sat up straight, fear dancing in her eyes. "I - I don't know what you are talking about, you can check the birth records; it was only Jarod and I. We didn't have a sister."  
  
"Jarod had a sister." Gil said calmly.  
  
"Yeah, me." Krissy murmured in a low, threatening voice.  
  
"No," he tossed a couple of photos of the body that they had recovered from her attic, "her." He pointed to the carcass.   
  
Catherine looked at Gil and smiled to herself, knowing that he was probably having a good time with this interrogation.  
  
"So how much does it cost?" He asked, looking through another file.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For the surgery. It must have been a long recovery, wasn't it . . . Jarod." Gil pushed his luck. His face was void of any emotion, but inside, Gil was beaming with pride.   
  
Catherine pursed her lips together. "A good what, three to one hundred grand."  
  
Gil cocked his head to the side. "Orchiectomy, penectomy, vaginoplasty, augmentation mammoplasty, or all of the above?"  
  
The two CSIs awaited a response. "I think I should get a lawyer."   
  
Catherine and Gil looked at each other simultaneously, each congratulating the other silently on a job well-done.  
  
***  
  
"So this Jarod fellow, kills his sister and hides her in their attic?" Nick asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.  
  
Sara sat beside him. "He was her manager? So what, one day he just decides that he wants to be her?" She lathered a large amount of cream cheese on her bagel. "Why did he kill her?" She asked, mid-bite.  
  
"Apparently, he thought she was getting too fat." Nick mumbled.  
  
Sara retreated the bagel from her mouth, and wiped off some of the cream cheese, leaving Warrick laughing.   
  
Catherine shrugged. "Well, he had a pretty good deal going for him. I mean, no one would suspect him if he had 'disappeared'. They'd be looking for his body, not hers."  
  
Gil nodded. "But Catherine was smart and dare I say, sneaky enough to get us a DNA sample from the unwilling Jarod and we compared it with the prints that were present at the crime scene."  
  
"And the blood from the ballet shoes confirmed a match with the body in the attic." Catherine added.  
  
There was a comfortable silence as the team members ate their respective early breakfasts, save for Catherine who was picking out all the mango pieces in Gil's fruit salad.   
  
"So he got a sex change?" Nick shook his head. "All in the name of ballet?"  
  
"Sexual reassignment - it's not as uncommon as we think it to be." Gil added, spearing the last mango piece and offering it to Catherine. He watched as she took the fork deep in her mouth, then sensually let it slide out, sans mango. She moaned a thanks, taking his breath away.  
  
"Man, I still can't believe that was the brother!" Nick exclaimed, wiping his mouth with a wrinkled napkin. "Heh, gives a whole new meaning to the term, 'Nut Cracker' huh?" He grinned, winning looks of disgust from the rest of the CSIs. He clapped his hands together at the lack of positive reaction, and made his exit with haste.  
  
"Hey, you promised me a ride." Warrick yelled, disposing of his napkin and following Nick.   
  
The three remaining CSIs sat in silence, the clock the only distraction. "Well," Gil finally got up, "let's go then - I'm pretty tired."  
  
Catherine watched him with a confused expression. She was just about to ask him what he was talking about when she witnessed Sara get up and walk towards the door.  
  
"Let me just get my jacket, okay?" She called over her shoulder, jogging lightly towards the locker room.  
  
Catherine turned her gaze back to Gil, a thousand questions swimming in the blue-green sea of her eyes. They locked eyes for moments gone by, neither having the courage to speak up first. Her peripheral vision caught strands of dark hair and in a second, the object of her affection had been blinked away. She glanced around the now empty room, her eyes travelling up to the lights, trying to prevent the tears from gathering. She looked back at the door, almost expecting someone to come back. She waited . . .  
  
***  
  
He was sitting on his bar-stool, sipping some wine. His fingers drummed against the clutched newspaper and he glanced at the second glass of wine beside his. Glancing at the door, he let out a sly grin and continued to read the paper. His eyes travelled to the clock and then back to the door, and as if on cue, the doorbell chimed. Getting up, he walked over to the door, and opened it, turning on his heel and walking back to the kitchen.   
  
As he had deduced, his visitor followed, closing the door behind her. "Were you expecting someone?" She asked, flipping her blond locks out of her face. It had taken her a good hour to decide whether or not to confront her supervisor of the events recently transpired and of a chance for those to come.   
  
Gil looked up, dawning a surprised look, completely exaggerated for his amusement. "Oh . . . Catherine." He looked back at the door, faking his expectations to lie elsewhere.   
  
Catherine looked at the glass of wine and at Gil's attire: clad only in a pair of checked pants and a form-fitting black t-shirt. "Am I interrupting something?" She asked him, her voice cracking despite her efforts.  
  
Gil bit his lip, listening to her voice break was causing sharp pains to his heart. "Uh . . . no, it's fine." He replied cryptically, and glanced once more at the door, hoping to push her over the edge.  
  
"You know what? This was a mistake . . ." She began to leave.   
  
"Goal achieved." He muttered to himself, and made his way to the front door, before she did. He turned around, leaning against it, a grin dawned on his face.  
  
"Oh, this is funny?" Catherine asked, slowly becoming more and more irate. "I'm glad my embarrassment amuses you, Grissom." She tried to push him out of the way.  
  
Gil cringed playfully; she only used his last name when she was deeply angered with him. He sighed almost dreamily, feeling a tug at his pants, knowing that something was awakening. He chewed on his lower lip, aware that her ire always seemed to have an arousing effect on him. "Why did you leave?" He asked calmly, his eyes boring in hers.   
  
"You wouldn't understand." She muttered, reaching for the door-handle. Her hand clasped over his, and she desperately tried to move it. "Gil," her eyes pleading, "let me leave with a little dignity?"  
  
He wet his dry lips. "Tell me why you left me, Catherine." He beckoned her.   
  
She brought her hand up to his chest, feeling him on top of his shirt. "Gil . . ." She took a deep breath. "I was scared, God how I was scared." She looked up to meet his eyes. "You've incited feelings in me . . . and it frightened me to actually believe that they were happening." She paused, leaning her forehead against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I've felt this way for so long, Gil - and all of a sudden you start returning these feelings, and I . . . I didn't know what to expect."  
  
Gil placed the back of his hand against her cheek, and stroked it lovingly. "All of a sudden?"  
  
She looked up to meet his gaze and let out a sad laugh. "Why didn't you say anything?" She whispered, her lips nearing his.  
  
"My fears are as real as yours, Cath." He murmured back, his lips connecting with hers. It was slow, sensual and everything they dreamed of. Emotions mingled, hitching a ride on their tongues as they explored one another.   
  
Catherine broke away first. "So," she asked coyly, "who were you expecting?"   
  
He raised his eyebrow, grinning at her.   
  
"How did you know I'd come back?" She asked, placing a gently kiss on his neck.  
  
He sighed and traced a finger down the exposed skin of her neck. "I know you. You always come back." He replied softly, voice thick with love.  
  
She smiled as he guided her towards the kitchen, offering her the full glass of wine. "I was afraid that you and -"  
  
"I only drove her home, Catherine." He smiled, appeasing her fears. "What, were you afraid I'd let her take a 'ride'." He stressed the last part.   
  
She took his glass and placed it on the table. Taking his hand, she began to lead him to his bedroom.  
  
"A little forward, don't you think?" He asked, puckish eyes dancing, his skin tingling with anticipation and heart beating for her and her alone.  
  
"Oh, I just want to see how well you handle your stick-shift."   
  
–Finis– 


End file.
